


Save a Place for Me

by Lywinis



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Phil does his best, Steve spending Christmas alone is kinda canon, christmas shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9279305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: Phil struggles to get Steve a gift.





	

Phil spent a long time debating on what he could get the Captain for Christmas. It was a painstaking process, finding a gift that was both personal and not too affectionate. He wasn't, despite Clint's assertions, trying to get on the Captain's good side; Christmas came from the heart, and he wanted this to matter.

Art supplies were the easy, obvious choice, and therefore, he rejected them almost offhand. He could always get him something older, perhaps a record or two to add to his collection. Phil sighed, rubbing his face with his hand.

Something that mattered...

He tapped into his computer, trying to think of something. He accessed the files he had, the research he'd done to find the Captain. During his digging, he'd uncovered Steve's personal belongings, which had resided in a storage facility until two years ago, when the Captain himself had been recovered.

All documented, Phil went through the articles, one by one, trying to pin down something that might be special enough that Steve would appreciate it.

He paused, rereading.

They'd never given him back his footlocker. Phil scowled. Damn it. One more thing he'd have to see to. It was as though when he died, his orders were now null and void. He dialed in to the storage facility, barking orders and hanging up with a click as he rose, throwing on his jacket.

The facility was cool, dry, and comfortable. He retrieved the footlocker, wheeled it out and into his SUV, and took it back to his apartment. He'd bring it by the Tower when the Avengers came back from their current mission. He put his hand on the leather of the trunk, buttery soft and smooth with care. He looked down at the itemization sheet.

They'd gone through the contents when Steve had been believed dead.

Was it still a good idea to make sure everything was there?

Phil hesitated, then frowned. He would take the utmost care with it. He just needed to make sure nothing was missing.

He hoped Steve would understand.

The lid creaked as he opened it, the hinges protesting after remaining closed for so long. Phil could smell the age of the items in the trunk. He peered in, reaching out to flick on the overhead light in his kitchen to see better.

Clothing, Steve's personal clothes from before the Project Rebirth transformation made them far too small, were folded atop a shoebox, along with several books, including a battered copy of The Hobbit (Phil made a note to get him a revised copy, so he could see the changes), several sketchbooks, and a collection of clippings from the war. Another, smaller box contained a set of rosary beads, well-worn from the press of fingers, as well as a couple of small prayer books and pressed flowers. Phil closed the box with care and reached for the shoebox.

Photos greeted him, and he realized he'd found his gift. The pictures were all well-thumbed through, and were creased and worn at the edges, some through the middle. He closed the shoebox and pulled it out of the trunk. He packed up the trunk, set it aside to bring to Steve later that evening, and set off with the shoe box under his arm.

* * *

When Phil heard that Steve Rogers was alone for Christmas Eve, he shoved down any misgivings he might have and went to go see if his hero would like some company. No one should spend the holidays alone. He tucked his gift under his arm and headed out into the snow.

He decided not to mention that he dithered on the sidewalk for almost an hour, his hands sweating inside his gloves as he realized that maybe his gift should have been anonymous. Because this might have been an invasion of Steve’s privacy; doubt clouded his vision worse than the snow and it was nearly dark before he mounted the steps to the tower, identified himself for JARVIS, and was allowed up.

“Phil,” Steve said, sounding surprised. Phil shuffled on the doorstep to Steve’s floor in the tower. Steve looked every inch the American heartthrob, a warm woolen sweater over a collared shirt and a pair of dark jeans accenting long legs and trim hips. Phil blinked and collected himself. It was Christmas. He should pull himself together.

 “I swung by to see if maybe I could drop this off with you? I mean…you don’t have to accept it, but I’d like you to have it.” Phil swallowed and shifted, uneasy. Should he just leave?

“Come in, Phil,” Steve said, his smile a little warmer than normal. “You look like you’re freezing. Would you like a drink?”

“I…yes, please.” Phil walked in to the smell of something savory baking, and his mouth began to water. Great, Steve could cook, too. As if he didn’t have it bad enough…

“What brings you to the tower on such a cold night?” Steve asked. He pulled a pair of oven mitts on as a timer went off, pulling out a meatloaf still bubbling in its glassware pan. He glanced over the dish at Phil, and Phil realized he might be openly drooling a bit.

“Well, I’d heard you were spending the night on your own. No plans?” he asked.

Steve got a faraway look in his eye.

“Not really,” he said. “Everyone had plans.”

“That’s…terrible of them,” Phil said, his voice soft. “No one stayed?”

“I went out to do some volunteering,” Steve said. “Everyone is doing their own thing this year. I can’t blame them. They all have families.”

Phil flinched. “Would you like me to stay?”

“Oh, Phil, you don’t have to, I’m sure you have plenty of things to do, as well as family to go home to,” Steve said. He put the pan down and began to set the table for one. “You said you had something for me?”

Phil nodded, and passed over the meticulous package. His hands shook a little as Steve took it, and the super soldier glanced up at him.

“Can I open it?” he asked. Steve looked almost like he’d never seen a Christmas gift before. He probably hadn’t in a long while, Phil realized. Phil blinked at him, feeling dull, slow and stupid now that he was actually here. There was nothing that Steve could actually say that would make him feel better about it, but he nodded.

Steve’s fingers slit the tape on the side of the box, and he unwrapped it, setting the paper to the side in a neat, folded pile. It was impressive how deft Steve’s large fingers were, and he slipped the top open, looking down at the polished leather of the cover.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A scrapbook,” Phil said, giving him a nervous smile. “Um. Remember the locker I brought by?”

Steve nodded. “You said SHIELD had forgotten to return it to me. I’m glad you did. There was a lot of things missing that I thought I’d never see again. Ma’s rosary beads for one.”

Phil nodded with an outrush of breath. “I hope this isn’t too personal. I inventoried the box to make sure everything was still there. When I saw the pictures and how worn they were…”

Steve flipped open the cover and took a breath. Pages and pages of photos, restored to like new status, the passage of time rolled back. Steve groped for a chair and pulled it out, sitting as though his knees were about to give.

“Phil, this is…” He traced a picture of Sarah Rogers, one of the only known ones remaining and one of the most worn, as though Steve had carried it in his pocket a lot.

“I know what it’s like to be alone on Christmas,” Phil blurted. Steve looked up. “My mom died when I was in the army. So…I thought I’d bring yours back to you, as best I could.”

“Phil,” Steve said, and Phil rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like he should retreat. He’d had no right, no call to do it. But he couldn’t just…

That was his problem. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone where Steve Rogers was concerned. He was in love with the guy and it was escalating. He’d have to speak to Fury, and get reassigned–

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jumped. Looking up, he saw Steve smiling. His breath caught, because this was a genuine one, not a tight-lipped grin of amusement shot to Tony or a poster paper showboat. It was warm and gentle and inviting, and Phil’s knees went watery.

“Thank you, Phil. You really went above and beyond. I…didn’t.” Steve’s face contorted a second and he looked pained. “I forgot to get you a gift. Of all the stupid…I didn’t think—”

Phil shifted, the hand on his shoulder like a brand.

“Don’t worry about it, Captain Rogers,” Phil said. “Like I said, I know what it’s like to be alone for Christmas.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Steve said. “Why don’t you stay? We’ll eat dinner and then I can figure out what to get you. I hope you don’t mind it being late.”

“Dinner sounds nice,” Phil said. “Maybe just…forget about the gift. I’m not really big on them myself.”

Steve frowned, but he didn’t mention it again, moving for the meatloaf. Phil’s stomach growled, and he hushed it with the promise of real food. Steve handed him a drink, and he sniffed it.

“Cocoa laced with peppermint schnapps,” Steve supplied. “Pepper had me try some last time I was on their floor. She said you liked it.”

Phil pinked, pondering how bent out of shape Stark would be if he sent her flowers.

“Yeah, it’s just right for Christmas.” He rubbed his neck and took a seat at the table with Steve.

* * *

Steve Rogers did a damn fine meatloaf, and Phil almost groaned as he sat back, one hand over his stomach.

“That good, huh?” Steve asked, sounding amused.

“Better than,” Phil said. He flushed a little, some of the nervousness returning when food was done with. “You cook well.”

He did everything well, if Phil was honest. If he was completely honest, he’d had a little too much of the schnapps during dinner, and was feeling a little light headed. He wobbled when he stood, and Steve was there, a hand on his elbow. Phil forced himself to concentrate. He didn’t want to somehow wind up poured into the poor man’s lap.

“JARVIS was going to put on a movie after dinner,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you…want to do that?”

“I should probably go, but I think I might have…drunk a little too much hot cocoa,” Phil admitted.

“ _It is advised that Agent Coulson rest. His blood alcohol level is just below the legal limit. As he walked here, there is the danger of hypothermia,_ ” JARVIS supplied.

Phil glanced up. Thanks, JARVIS.

“Come on,” Steve said, smiling. “It’s just a Christmas movie.”

Phil nodded, and they settled in on the couch. Phil was warm, and almost drowsy, his head lolling back just a little as the screen on the wall started up. It’s A Wonderful Life started up, and Phil tried to focus his attention. Phil hadn’t seen the movie in years, but with Steve settled on the couch next to him, it was a little harder to concentrate than he’d like. Steve’s hip was against his, and Phil could feel the warmth of his thigh alongside his.

It was easy to let loose a little and lean into Steve’s shoulder. To his surprise, the super soldier didn’t seem to mind. Phil drifted a bit, feeling warm, full and sleepy. When he opened his eyes, the credits were rolling and Steve was looking at him with an amused expression. Phil was pillowed half on Steve’s chest, the other man’s arms around him, and Phil sat up immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve replied. “When was the last time you had a proper sleep?”

“I…” Phil, still groggy, couldn’t find an answer that wouldn’t be an outright lie. SHIELD kept everyone busy, but Phil was busier than most, since he had no one to go home to; it seemed like he was taking advantage of the Captain’s hospitality.

“That’s what I thought,” Steve said. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“But—“

“Phil,” Steve’s voice was sincere as he looked at him. “You’re exhausted. If just a little alcohol and some hot food are what do you in, then you’re going to need the sleep. You came over for Christmas. Let me extend my hospitality. It’s not so lonely when you’re here.”

Oh. Phil swallowed, debating on whether this pushed the bounds of propriety too far. In the end, it was Steve’s look of concern that did it. It answered the little curl of longing in his own chest. Steve was lonely too. That had to mean he liked having Phil around. After a long moment, Phil nodded and sat up so that Steve could rise from the couch.

For a moment, he thought he was still asleep when Steve extended a hand to help him up, but when he took it, Steve’s hand was warm and large in his own. He didn’t let go, either, as he led Phil down the hall towards a series of rooms. There was a bathroom, then an office across from it, and then a bedroom. Phil could see another couple of doors down the hallway.

“I’ve only got the one guest room,” Steve said apologetically. “Usually it’s Bucky’s when he visits, but he’s off collecting more of himself, and it’s not being used right now. I don’t think he keeps anything here.”

Phil nodded in understanding. After the Winter Soldier Incident, Bucky Barnes had been piecing himself together. The last he’d heard, he and Natasha had been traveling to Russia to clear out old corners of both their memories. It would be good for both of them to start again.

Steve squeezed his hand, and Phil realized he’d been woolgathering. “Ah, sorry. I’m still—“

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “How are you feeling?”

“Less drunk,” Phil admitted. The schnapps was all but a fuzzy memory. A drink of water, some aspirin to stave off any hangover, and he’d be right as rain in the morning. Steve was close, almost hovering, and Phil looked up at him. “So better, thank you.”

“That’s good,” Steve said. He bit his lip, as though debating something. “I was wondering if—“

“Hm?” Phil said, looking up. Steve leaned in, pressing his lips against Phil’s. Phil’s brows shot up, the affection surprising. It was earnest, if a little clumsy. Steve’s lips were warm against his own, the scratch of his stubble pleasant. When he pulled back, Steve was pink from his ears to the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have,” he said. Phil shook his head. He reached up, cupping the back of Steve’s neck, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Despite his feelings, it was soft, gentle. It was warmth and fading drunkenness and just a little bit of grogginess, but it was good. Phil pulled back, resting their foreheads together.

“What was that for?” Phil asked. Steve chuckled.

“I like you,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. “It just seems out of the blue.”

“Does it?” Steve said. “Maybe I should make my intentions more clear next time. I haven’t figured out what to get you for Christmas because I was worried it would seem like too much, or like I was overly affectionate. I want you to stay.”

“Really?” Phil asked.

“Really,” Steve said. “You’re always there, and you care so much, about all of us. You’re a good man, Phil. You work hard and put your all into everything you do. I missed you when…”

When he was dead. Phil shook his head, not liking to talk about that time either.

“I missed you all, too,” Phil said. He swallowed, looking up at Steve. “You don’t have to get me anything for Christmas, you know.”

“But I’m going to.”

“Okay,” Phil said. “But…can I take you out for breakfast?”

“Is there anything open tomorrow?” Steve asked.

“If not, I’ll make you pancakes,” Phil said.

“Deal.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything fanfic in a long, long time. It's been quite a while, I know. I've been working on more commercial works, writing romance for sale on Amazon. (If you'd like to buy my books, shoot me a note on tumblr or via email at lywinis@gmail.com and I'll be happy to provide you a link.)
> 
> It's not too far into January, right? This still counts. *slides in late*


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